


As Old as Your Omens (Keep Your Proud Head from Falling)

by grayscaleTestimony



Series: If the Sky Comes Falling Down For You [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amenadiel is a good brother, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Big Brother Lucifer, Crowley Was Raphael Before He Fell (Good Omens), Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Spoilers for Ep 1 of Lucifer S4, Post-Canon, Post-Lucifer (TV) Season/Series 03, The Archangels as Siblings, The Archangels still need family counselling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-08-31 23:51:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20248699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grayscaleTestimony/pseuds/grayscaleTestimony
Summary: Amenadiel opens his mouth, but Lucifer beats him to the punch. “Did you know?”“Know what, brother?” Amenadiel asks after a moment. “Know… about Chloe?” Lucifer huffs and turns around, face set in a stony glare.“No. Did you—did you know about Raphael, did you know that he Fell and purposely keep it from me?” he asks, voice steadily raising in volume.“Of course not—”“He was my brother!” he shouts, and the energy from the outburst shatters a nearby empty bottle. Amenadiel flinches at the sudden noise, but stands firm with his arms crossed at the sudden release of anger. He’s no stranger to Lucifer’s fits of rage, especially when he’s drunk, especially-especially when something’s gone horribly wrong. Lucifer shakes in front of Amenadiel, hurt projected across his features. “He was my brother and no one told me.” Amenadiel doesn’t know what else to do except take a step forward and hug the Devil, who lets the dam break and drunkenly starts to cry.Or: Lucifer has trouble coming to terms with the events of the past few weeks--and so does Crowley.





	As Old as Your Omens (Keep Your Proud Head from Falling)

**Author's Note:**

> The thrilling sequel! This fic takes place starting about two weeks after Sometimes Goodbye's the Only Way. There are some spoilers for the first episode of S4 of Lucifer, and it takes place post-S3. If anyone is lost, comment and I can explain! Title is taken from "The Mother We Share" by CHVRCHES. Enjoy!

Amenadiel’s not sure what he’s expecting to come back to, but honestly, it’s worse than he thought. When he gets to Lux, _Mazikeen _is the one running the club, ensuring everything is kept in order. She does a good enough job — while bartending was not her job in Hell, she was good at managing people — but Amenadiel suspects she’s only present because of an order Lucifer gave. He gives a nod to her as he approaches, watching as her face sours when she lays eyes on him.

“Oh,” she says dryly, going back to the glasses in front of her, “It’s _you_. Got bored of Heaven, huh?”

The angel huffs, crossing his arms defensively. He’s half-prepared for her to throw a punch with the glare she’s supplying. She breaks the gaze after a moment, suddenly more eager to tend to drying the glasses.

“I don’t think anyone _else _was going to fly Charlotte’s soul up to Heaven,” he snarks back, tone coming out a little harsher than he intends.

Maze narrows her eyes at him, lips twitching at the corners as if she wants to snarl at him. Ultimately, she opts to just stare him down while she considers what he says. If glares could kill, Amenadiel would be dead, buried, and being tortured under her hand by this point. Luckily, they do not, and Amenadiel has gotten used to the token glares after a few years of them. He’s become relatively immune to the demon’s methods of intimidation, even one as strong as this. She concedes and tilts her head back towards the elevator.

“He’s upstairs in the penthouse. Has been for a week, while I held down the fort here,” she offers before her own tone turns to snark, “I assume you’ve heard about Heaven’s new favourite family drama?”

Amenadiel nods, dropping his defensive posture-ever so-slightly. He sticks a hand in his pocket, looking to the ceiling and then to a swathe of dancing clubgoers.

“Yes, I heard about Raphael,” he responds carefully, as if he’s expecting the ex-Archangel to come down to smite him. “I hardly saw Gabriel while I was in the city. It was very uncharacteristic of him. It’s been almost two weeks, they must all be taking it rather hard.”

Maze shrugs and rubs diligently at a spot on the glass in her hand.

“I never _did_ particularly care for Crawly — Crowley, now, if I remember right,” she supplies, quickly correcting herself.

Amenadiel doesn’t expect her to understand the emotional gravity of the situation, but her tone is surprisingly soft around the edges when she speaks again. “Go easy on him, Chloe left a few days ago.”

“She _what?”_ Amenadiel replies, eyebrows raised.

Maze sighs and sets a glass down to pour herself a glass of whiskey, taking a long drink before she slams it down to speak. “She left for Europe to — I don’t know why exactly, maybe it's to find herself or some other bullshit, and she took Trixie with her.”

Amenadiel realizes then what’s the cause of Maze’s foul mood — the demon had only just gotten back into good graces with one of her best friends, only for her not-quite niece to be packed up on her.

Maze continues after another long drink, killing the glass off. “Chloe saw the True Face.” There’s the ticket.

“I assume it’s safe to say she didn’t take it well?” he asks.

Maze rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Not in the least.”

Her demeanour changes after that, like a snake shedding its skin within seconds. Gone is Maze, the fun-loving aunt figure and bounty hunter; and back is the demon and torturer Mazikeen, following orders from the King of Hell.

“Anyways. He’s upstairs, throwing himself a pity party. Have fun.” She shoos Amenadiel away, oddly eager to get back to work.

The angel heads for the elevator, pushing the button for the uppermost floor and riding up in silence. He’s trying to prepare some grand speech in his head, but nothing really comes to mind. The bell chimes and the doors open.

The penthouse, to put it _nicely_, is a mess. Empty bottles litter the bar and the piano, a few stray cans scattered throughout the rest of the space. Amenadiel is a little taken aback at the lack of women (or men, for that matter), but then again, Lucifer had been rather lovesick with Chloe.

“Lucifer?” the angel calls tentatively, taking a few steps towards the living room. “Maze sent me up — she said you’ve been here a week.”

There’s the sound of a bottle breaking, a quiet curse, and then the sound of footsteps as Lucifer comes into the room. He looks bedraggled — his hair a mess, eyes bloodshot, a dark stubble clinging to his chin.

“Oh,” he says, voice flat, “it’s you.”

Amenadiel huffs.

“Yes, Luci, it’s me. Sorry to disappoint,” he responds, voice dripping with sarcasm. Lucifer’s face falls further. Amenadiel feels a little guilty, and crosses the room to stand in front of his brother. He gives him a clap on the shoulder, trying his best to be comforting. “I heard about… what happened. I’m sorry.”

Lucifer gives a humourless laugh, turning away from Amenadiel. “It seems everyone has heard,” he says bitterly, looking around before he grabs a half-full bottle of Grey Goose. “Sooner I can forget about it—”

“That’s a terrible idea,” Amenadiel replies and snatches the bottle out of his hands. It’s not hard, as drunk as he is — he’s not able to react in time to snatch it back, either. “You look terrible, brother.”

“And you look like a feathery _arse_ who _flew the fuck away_ and left me!” he shouts in response, making fumbled reaches and jumps for the bottle that Amenadiel holds above his head. He comes up short each time and after the last, he takes a step away from Amenadiel. He clenches a fist and there’s a glassy look in his eyes that makes it look like he may break down and cry. “You _left_ me.”

“What are you _talking _about?” Amenadiel questions, crossing his arms. Lucifer’s resolve to get the bottle of liquor vanishes as he turns away from Amenadiel, sighing.

“When I came back from Heaven,” he says, voice shaky, “after everything with Raph — _Crowley_, you weren’t here and Charlotte was _dead_ and all that was left of you was a _feather_.” He pauses and Amenadiel watches as he brings his hand up to wipe at his face. “I thought you’d gone back for good. Tired of my antics.”

“Oh.” Amenadiel is at a loss. “I… no, Lucifer, I hadn’t meant for that to be the case.”

Lucifer waves him off.

“No matter,” he says, tone flat but voice still shaking, “It didn’t change anything. You must have heard about Chloe and that situation by now. You leaving didn’t affect that.”

The words punch Amenadiel in the gut — he’d seen Lucifer in pain before, but the vulnerability he held in this state was frightening. Amenadiel opens his mouth, but Lucifer beats him to the punch. “Did you know?”

“Know what, brother?” Amenadiel asks after a moment. “Know… about Chloe?”

Lucifer huffs and turns around, face set in a stony glare.

“No. Did you — did you know about Raphael, did you know that he _Fell_ and purposely keep it from me?” he asks, voice steadily rising in volume.

“Of course not—”

“He was my _brother!_” he shouts, and the energy from the outburst shatters a nearby empty bottle.

Amenadiel flinches at the sudden noise, but stands firm with his arms crossed at the sudden release of anger. He’s no stranger to Lucifer’s fits of rage, especially when he’s drunk, _especially _— especially when something’s gone horribly wrong.

Lucifer shakes in front of Amenadiel, hurt projected across his features. “He was my _brother_ and no one _told me.”_

Amenadiel doesn’t know what else to do except take a step forward and hug the Devil, who lets the dam break and drunkenly starts to cry.

“I’m calling Linda,” Amenadiel says after a moment, thinking of the therapist’s experience with Lucifer and their family drama. “I think she does grief counselling.”

Aziraphale enjoys the quiet mornings in the bookshop, drinking his tea in the back room while going over a newly-added book. This morning is no different, Aziraphale going over a newly-acquired first edition of The Canterville Ghost — a gift from Crowley. The demon in question is still in the flat above the shop, asleep for another few hours. Aziraphale has time before he opens the shop, and debates on going back upstairs when the bell chimes at the front. He could have _sworn_ he’d locked it. Nonetheless, he puts the book and his teacup down to head to the front of the shop.

“I’m terribly sorry,” he half-shouts as he goes to the door, “but I’m afraid we don’t open for another few hours—” He stops when he sees just who walked in the door. “Oh! Amenadiel, I… wasn’t expecting you.”

“It’s good to see you, Aziraphale,” the other angel says, looking around. “Your shop is quite the place.”

Aziraphale smiles politely, trying to ignore the sudden rush of panic that washes over him. Heaven wouldn’t come to knock this soon after everything that happened, would they?

“Thank you, I have spent quite an amount of work on it,” he responds, momentarily letting himself gloat about the bookshop before the gravity of the situation takes hold. “Now, what brings you here? I would hate to believe that Heaven would—”

“Oh, no, I’m not sent by Heaven. I’m not sent by _anyone_ really, I’m actually here to check on Raph — _Crowley,”_ he corrects.

Aziraphale narrows his eyes. Amenadiel’s face remains passive.

“He’s fine,” Aziraphale says curtly, “and not interested in returning to Heaven. Or Hell, for that matter.”

Amenadiel’s eyebrows lift before he shakes his head. “Oh, I’m not — no, nothing like that. I apologize for, ah, ruffling your feathers,” he says, trying to prevent Aziraphale from getting too riled up.

Aziraphale relaxes, feelings easing slowly.

“Well, in that case,” he says, turning to go to the back of the shop, “fancy a cup of tea?” Amenadiel considers it a moment before eventually smiling.

“Tea would be lovely,” he says, and follows Aziraphale into the back room.

The principality sits, and with a wave of his hand, has two cups sitting out on a side table filled with tea. Amenadiel nods in thanks and takes a seat in the lesser-used chair adjacent to the sofa Aziraphale has taken a seat in, taking one of the cups. They sit and chat for a while, discussing how London has changed throughout the ages and the new inventions humans are coming up with these days. They’re so absorbed in their conversation they don’t hear Crowley come down the stairs.

“Angel, you in—” The demon stops when he sees Amenadiel, expression souring. His eyes narrow. “I see we have a guest.” Amenadiel fidgets in his seat, suddenly feeling anxious. “Hello, Amenadiel.”

“Crowley, it’s been too long,” the angel responds politely, warmth in his tone. “You’re looking well. I only came to give well-wishes. Aziraphale and I just got to talking, and didn’t want to bother you.”

As if to illustrate the point, Amenadiel takes a sip from his cup. He wasn’t lying — he _had_ come to wish the two well, and he had always liked Aziraphale. It was good to see both of them, and even better to know that they were together. Truly a match made in Heaven, if Amenadiel said so himself.

“It’s true, dear,” Aziraphale offers, patting the seat next to him. “Come now, we can surely have a chat.”

Crowley begrudgingly obliges, slinking his way over to drape himself into the seat next to Aziraphale. Amenadiel takes a quick moment to look Crowley over, noticing the careful way he handles himself. He gets more snappish when he notices.

“I'm _sssstill recovering_,” he hisses out, and Amenadiel catches the way his pupils shrink when he catches sight of them behind the demon’s sunglasses. He holds his hands up as a show of retreat.

“I was only concerned, brother,” he replies, tone even and cool. Something about that term — _brother _— settles Crowley a bit. He knows the Archangels — Fallen or not — do not consider all of the angels their siblings, but Amenadiel was Created shortly after Uriel. Both of them, in terms of Celestials, were relatively close in age. Crowley was older than them by what could be considered a few years — but Celestial ages were complicated, and he didn’t want to think about the equivalent in human time.

“It’s just recovery,” Crowley mutters back, crossing his arms and tucking his legs up close to him. Amenadiel doesn’t press on the issue, instead taking another sip of tea before he clears his throat.

“Actually,” Amenadiel offers hesitantly, “I _did_ come to ask a favour.”

Crowley raises an eyebrow, visibly bristling at the mention of a possible favour. Aziraphale’s hand freezes when he brings his teacup up for another sip.

“If it has anything to do with going back—”

“No, of course not,” Amenadiel interrupts, raising a hand. “I was being truthful about that — I’m not here as a mouthpiece for the Silver City, let alone Hell. This is… more of a personal favour.” Crowley gives a quiet sigh of relief, posture relaxing. He crosses an ankle across the opposite knee, leaning back in the armchair. Amenadiel can’t help but draw similarities between both his brothers — Fallen, but brothers and Archangels nonetheless.

“Get on with it, then,” Crowley says, snapping. “I’m interested now.”

Amenadiel coughs. He notes to himself that they’re both equally as impatient. “Lucifer’s been going through a rough patch,” he starts.

Crowley opens his mouth to interrupt him, but Aziraphale holds a hand out for him to let the other angel finish.

“Aside from what happened in Heaven, other things have gone a bit poorly. Mazikeen — you’re familiar with her, correct?”

“Unfortunately,” Crowley grumbles. “Keep on it.” Amenadiel nods and continues.

“Well, she’s still angry with him, and he thought I left for good the last time I went to Heaven, and now, well… The love of his life — or, well, _everyone else_ thinks she’s the love of his life, you know how Lucifer is — has more or less rejected him after seeing some unsavoury things.”

Crowley shrugs. “Don’t see how that’s my problem,” he says, still calmly reclined in his seat.

“He’s been moping about being a bad brother — which, he _hasn’t _been the best, I agree,” Amenadiel clarifies, “but if you’re ready to see him, I think it would lift his spirits.”

Crowley’s demeanour immediately shifts, tension running through his body as he sits up straight. Aziraphale is the one to respond first, laying a hand on Crowley’s knee.

“Rather _bold_ of you to come and ask such a favour so soon after everything happened, isn’t it?” he asks, setting his cup down on the table next to his chair. “And for Lucifer to send you—”

“He didn’t send me,” Amenadiel interrupts, “This was my idea, to try and lessen the blow.” He turns to Crowley, still tensed like a snake ready to strike. “He’s been drunkenly rambling about how awful of a brother he’s been.”

Crowley scoffs, crossing his arms. “Good for him,” he snaps, looking over the lenses of his sunglasses. His jaw is set, pupils a thin line against gold-yellow irises. “I don’t want to see him.”

Aziraphale moves his hand from Crowley’s knee to his hand, gripping steadily. Crowley flinches, but settles slightly as he turns his torso to face towards Aziraphale. The two share a silent conversation before Aziraphale speaks.

“Nor do you have to,” Aziraphale says carefully, “if you don’t want to.”

Amenadiel nods.

“Of course not,” he concurs, finishing off his own cup of tea. “It was just a thought. If you’re not ready, then you’re not ready. I understand how difficult this must be for you.”

Both Aziraphale and Crowley turn towards him, expressions quickly morphing into those of confusion.

“You… understand?” Crowley asks warily.

Amenadiel nods.

“And you’re _not _going to drag me ‘cross the ocean to see my brother?”

Amenadiel scoffs, shaking his head. “Of course not,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Who am I to make you do anything?”

Aziraphale looks pleasantly surprised at the remark, while Crowley is outright shocked.

“That’s very polite of you,” he tells him, “and very unlike other angels.”

“I’ve been seeing a therapist,” he says, chuckling, “It’s one of the things she mentions — letting people heal on their own time.”

“Very sound advice,” Aziraphale notes, “and we appreciate your patience.”

Amenadiel decides it’s time he takes his leave, citing other errands to run, and bids the duo goodbye as he leaves the room, and the bell chimes at the front door.

All is silent in the bookshop before Crowley sighs and relaxes back in the chair. Aziraphale is up and worried in an instant, fussing over the demon. Crowley grabs his hand, which seems to calm him for a moment.

“Angel, it’s fine,” he says, bringing his other hand to cradle Aziraphale’s. “He’s left. He’ll leave us alone — he always _was_ an angel of his word.” Aziraphale takes a shaky breath before nodding, hand tightening around Crowley’s. “We’re okay.”

“I know, dear,” he responds, leaning against Crowley’s chair, “But I can’t help but worry that if Amenadiel found us, will Lucifer come looking next? Or Michael, perhaps?” Crowley snorts.

“I’d like to see either of them try,” he says confidently. Aziraphale manages only a weak chuckle, eyes darting back towards the door. Crowley takes his sunglasses off, resting them on the end table before standing up.

“Angel, talk to me.” Aziraphale lets out a shaky sigh before Crowley brings him closer to hold, Aziraphale resting his head against Crowley’s shoulder while his arms wrap around the demon’s waist.

“I just— I don’t want to lose you again,” he says into Crowley’s shirt. “There are days, that— I forget that you came back and I wake up in a panic, afraid of being alone, before I remember you’re beside me.” Crowley rests a hand on Aziraphale’s back, trailing his hand up and down his spine. His eyes catch the bright silver band that resides on his ring finger, glinting in the low light of the room. His heart swells and he holds Aziraphale tighter for a moment.

“I’m not going _anywhere_, Aziraphale. Not now,” he says, carefully pulling away from the angel. Crowley’s hands come up to cup his face, the demon leaning his forehead against the angel’s. “Not ever.”

Aziraphale sighs and fiddles with the new ring before he leans forward to kiss his husband — officially, now, at least on paper. Crowley smiles into the kiss, content with holding Aziraphale for as long as either two of them should want. It’s Aziraphale who pulls away.

“What would you say to another lunch date?” he asks.

Crowley raises an eyebrow before taking his hand, smiling.

“I suppose I could be tempted to that.”

Amenadiel returns to Lux three days later, just to check-in. It’s early in the afternoon, so the club is closed, but that doesn’t mean it’s empty. Two dancers sit on the bar, their legs dangling while they gossip over a shared bright blue drink. One of the janitors wave at Amenadiel as he comes in, and the angel gives a nod in response. Maze is nowhere to be seen, so Amenadiel opts to head straight up to the penthouse. The elevator hasn’t even stopped yet when he hears the yelling. He sighs and readies himself to deal with a very drunk Lucifer and a very pissed off Mazikeen.

He steps out of the elevator when the doors open, and only narrowly avoids being hit in the face with a bottle of expensive tequila. It does, however, soak his shirt when it hits the wall and explodes. He’s not even sure who threw it — he’s too busy watching Maze practically wrestle a _different_ bottle of alcohol from Lucifer’s hands. Despite Lucifer _still_ being drunk, he is the Devil, and while Maze is strong, she’s having trouble wrangling the bottle from him. As entertaining as the match would be, Amenadiel is tired of his brother’s antics and decidedly miracles all of the alcohol from the penthouse in a split-second decision.

“_Enough!”_ Amenadiel shouts, loud enough to shake the room. Back in the War, he was a general — he trained young angels, he led a battalion, and he demanded respect whenever he pleased. He could be loud and compelling when he needed to be, even against an Archangel and the head torturer of Hell, who both swivel their heads to look at him like deer in the headlights. “Enough, from both of you.”

“I was just trying—”  
  
“I don’t care, Mazikeen, wrestling him like a crocodile doesn’t work,” Amenadiel interrupts.

Maze sends a deadly glare at him but relents nonetheless. Lucifer groans and rolls his eyes, drunkenly stumbling over to Amenadiel at the entryway of the penthouse.

“Don’t be so _loud,_” he slurs, patting a hand to Amenadiel’s shoulder. “I’ve got a headache from _hell.”_

There’s a moment of silence before Lucifer bursts into laughter, saying something about puns between wheezes and snorts. Amenadiel wonders what he did for God to put _him_ in this position. In the blink of an eye, Amenadiel rubs his hands together and works a miracle as to sober the Archangel up. The haze clears from his brother’s face immediately and he takes a step away from Amenadiel.

“Welcome back,” Amenadiel snarks, rolling his eyes. Lucifer only responds with a steely glare.

“Why are you back here?” he asks coldly, turning to go back towards his room.

“I was just in London, I thought you might like to know how Crowley’s doing,” Amenadiel states. Lucifer freezes in his tracks, body gone rigid.

“_What_ did you do?” the Devil growls in response, not turning around. Amenadiel takes a deep breath to control the flare of anger that bubbles up—his brother is hurting. He must remember that.

“Nothing,” he replies honestly, “I just wanted to check up on him. He’s healing well, if you were wondering. He’s staying with Aziraphale right now.” Lucifer nods and turns around. His face is sombre, mouth set in a thin line.

“He’s happy?” he asks quietly, looking up at Amenadiel from halfway across the room. “He’s content, with Aziraphale.” Amenadiel nods, sticking his hands in his pockets. He’s a compassionate angel, sure, but conflict and resolutions aren’t his thing. He’s too awkward.

“He’s very happy, Luci. And he said he’d like to see you at some point,” Amenadiel replies. “He just needs time. You have plenty of that.”

“I suppose I do,” Lucifer concedes, sighing while he runs a hand through his mussed hair. “I… thank you, Amenadiel, for checking on him — and for letting me know how he’s doing. I appreciate it.”

“Any time, brother. I don’t enjoy seeing you suffer.” Amenadiel pauses and gives Lucifer a once over. “I think you need a shave. And a shower.”

Lucifer gives him a weak nod just as Amenadiel’s phone pings, and the lower angel shoos his brother towards the bathroom. Lucifer walks down the hall to the bathroom, muttering something about the taste of stale alcohol. Amenadiel looks down at his phone after Lucifer’s disappeared to his room. It’s an unknown number, but he knows who it is right away.

_14:21 Unknown: Tell him to come to the shop in two weeks. - AZ_

Lucifer finally musters up the courage to knock on the door. London is mostly dark, only illuminated by the streetlights along the sidewalk and the occasional passing set of headlights. The bookshop has been closed for two hours, according to the sign in the window. Lucifer vaguely muses that a bookshop is a boring use of time, but then again — he had a nightclub and was a police consultant by day, and that was most definitely not everyone’s cup of tea. He wonders what Crowley’s cup of tea was — did he like the bookshop? Did he have his own building to inhabit, his own business — or even a hobby? Surely, when you’re around humans for so long, you develop a hobby, right? Lucifer doesn’t have time to dwell on the topic because the door is swinging open and he’s face-to-face with the principality from Heaven.

“Lucifer,” the angel greets curtly, a strained smile on his face. “Do come in.” He steps to the side and Lucifer warily takes a few steps inside, half-expecting to be kicked out by his brother the second he senses him. “Do you drink tea?”

“Ah— no, but I’m quite okay. Thank you, Aziraphale,” he replies, a nervous smile plastered on his face. He takes in the room — it’s gorgeous, homey but spacey, and something he doesn't think he’s ever seen. “Quite a place you’ve got here.”

Aziraphale offers a sincere smile this time.

“Oh, well— thank you, I have invested quite a bit of time into it, you know. I’ve been working on it since the early nineteenth century,” he explains, straightening his bow tie. “I have first editions of quite a few things, and signed copies of others, of course, and—”

“You’re adorable when you talk about the shop, angel,” Crowley’s voice chimes from a few shelves back. He emerges into the aisle, coming towards them. He ties his hair up into a scrunchie as he approaches, giving up neatness after fighting with it for approximately two seconds. Lucifer can't see past the serpent’s sunglasses, but he assumes he’s glaring by the scowl on his face. He stops behind Aziraphale, his arms crossed. “Hello, Lucifer.”

“Crowley, you’re looking well,” Lucifer replies. Crowley’s expression doesn’t change. Lucifer forces a smile before continuing, “You grew your hair out.” The demon in question shrugs before he moves to stand in front of Aziraphale, stance wide. Lucifer makes sure to keep a distance, not keen on scaring his brother off in the first minute of interaction since their encounter in Heaven.

“Obviously,” Crowley snarks, making a gesture to the bun that’s messily sitting atop his head. He drops his hands to his side, shifting one back for Aziraphale to hold. The Principality’s eyebrows are knitted up in worry, and Lucifer notices the way he rubs circles into the top of Crowley’s hand. Lucifer didn't know what he expected: Aziraphale had held him while he died, of course he’d be protective over him. “I needed a change, after everything.” Lucifer softens a little.

“It suits you,” he offers, “Not that my opinion matters, of course.” Crowley snorts. “Is there a better place for us to talk?”

“I have a backroom,” Aziraphale says, turning to look towards the back of the shop for a moment before turning back to Lucifer. “We can talk there.”

“_We_?” Lucifer asks, nose wrinkled.

Crowley’s lips twitch into a snarl for a fraction of a second and Aziraphale’s body tenses while his eyes grow stormy. Lucifer is suddenly acutely aware of the fact that Aziraphale _did_ almost skewer him with a flaming sword and his brother, despite being Fallen, was _still _an Archangel — best not to test either of them.

“‘_We’_ is fine — lead the way, Aziraphale.”

With that, Aziraphale and Crowley turn in sync and start towards the back of the bookshop. Lucifer follows a few steps behind, glancing at shelves as he goes. He catches a few interesting titles: quite a bit from the Regency era of literature, and a surprising amount of American authors. Aziraphale holds the door open for him when they get to the back room. He stands to the side as his brother and his angel take their seats on a couch, looking at him expectantly.

“Are you going to sit down and chat like an adult or are you going to stay in your corner like a scorned child?” Crowley bites, gesturing to an armchair opposite the couch.

Lucifer manages an awkward cough before he hurries his way to take a seat. “So,” he starts, hands folded in his lap, “you said you were ready to talk about… what happened.”

  
“Yes, I suppose I did,” Crowley responds, opting to study his nails instead of looking at his brother. Aziraphale rests a hand on his knee and with a snap, has a cup of tea in his free hand.

Lucifer takes the chance to take a deep breath to steady himself. “I— I really am sorry,” he starts somberly, “for— well, for everything. For not being there for you during the Fall, for letting you even have the _chance_ to get hurt. I didn't want any of you involved in the War.”

Crowley looks up at that, suddenly more outwardly interested.

“And I know that it doesn’t mean anything _now,_ because it’s too late, but… I think I want to take what Mother said to heart — as much as I loathe to admit that She was right.”

Crowley snorts. “Took you long enough,” he snarks.

Lucifer narrows his eyes. Aziraphale glares back at Lucifer while he takes a sip of tea, looking as if he’s contemplating fighting the Devil. Crowley fidgets with a ring, and Lucifer has to do a double-take.

“Is that a wedding band?” he asks incredulously, eyebrows raised.

Crowley all but seethes at the question. He opens his mouth to speak, but Aziraphale sets his cup down on the end table and Crowley settles almost instantly, like a cat who is suddenly getting pet after being startled.

“It _is_, do you have a _problem_ with that?” Aziraphale asks, tension in his tone. Lucifer shakes his head.

“Of course not. Congratulations on making it official,” he says carefully. He grasps at the straws of small talk. “When did you two decide to do it?” Crowley scowls at him.

“Week after everything happened. We’ve been together a while, known each other for even longer — making it official on paper was one of the easier things,” he replies. “It seemed like the right thing to do. We love each other.”

There’s a pang in Lucifer’s chest, because he thinks of the woman _he _would maybe like to marry, and the fact that she ran away and he swallows the feeling down because _not right now_. He has plenty of other inner turmoil and guilt to face off with at the moment. He forces a smile for what seems like the millionth time that day, but he thinks it turns out more like a grimace.

“As I said before — congratulations, brother. You two do seem made for each other,” he says. Lucifer debates on what to say next, opting to shift in his seat and flick his gaze between the angel and demon in front of him. “Now— back to the matter at hand—”

“What is it you _want_ Lucifer?” Crowley snaps suddenly, hackles rising as he tenses from his relaxed stance. “What is it you’re after?”

“I’m not _after_ anything!” Lucifer retorts sharply, eyes flaring up red for a moment before he takes a breath to calm himself.

Aziraphale tenses next to Crowley, and on the astral plane, Lucifer catches the subtle way that the Principality’s wings shift around Crowley ever so slightly. At the same time, one of Crowley’s wing sets flares out to overlap with Aziraphale’s wings. Lucifer tries not to think about the blatant posturing, as if they’re two frightened pigeons in the park. He wonders how long they’ve postured like that when the other is upset. He wonders if they _know_ they do it.

Lucifer shakes the thoughts off and instead, takes another deep breath before he starts again. “I’m not after anything, Crowley, I just wanted to apologize. And I wanted to try and begin to fix this _mess _of a family.” Crowley narrows his eyes behind his sunglasses.

“Why now?” he demands. “What made you decide to—”

“_Because I saw your body!”_ Lucifer shouts, standing up. He gives a sweeping gesture, choking back emotion bubbling up in his voice. “I saw you _die_ after I— I didn’t even know you had _Fallen_, I just thought you hated me, and—” He takes a shaky sigh before continuing, “and I’ve lost everything. The last thing I want is to lose my family even further.”

Crowley sighs and leans forward, resting his head in his hands. “You want to keep the family together, but _you’re_ the one who started the split,” he states flatly.

Lucifer’s face falls even further, hurt coming across his face. Aziraphale presses a hand to Crowley’s shoulder, worry emanating from his person.

“Dear, if you need to step out—”

“No, angel, ‘s _fine_ I’m just—” Crowley cuts himself off with a sigh, lifting his head to look at his eldest brother. He yanks his sunglasses off, half-tossing them onto the coffee table. Lucifer blanches at the blatant display of trust, and the look of admiration in his brother’s eyes. “_You_ were the one who started the fight, Lucifer!” The Fallen Archangel in question scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“It’s not my fault Michael can be a wanker!” he exclaims, crossing his arms. “I was just— I had a point!”

This time, Crowley rolls his eyes followed quickly by a swipe with his sleeve, and Aziraphale puts a hand on his knee. Crowley moves to swipe it off, but his hand shakes. When his hand meets Aziraphale’s, he gives in to hold it. Lucifer starts pacing, and Crowley’s fairly sure he’s talking himself down from either a panic attack or outright leaving. Crowley can’t bring himself to care because he’s too busy internally talking _himself_ down.

“It _is_ your fault that I had to see all of you hurting,” Crowley says quietly. He looks down at Aziraphale’s hand in his. “Uriel, she— she was barely a fledgling, and she saw so many angels dead and wounded. Gabriel was more or less a _runner_, living up to that Messenger title. They were so _young,_ Lucifer, and they had to see so much.”

Lucifer sighs, scrubbing a hand through his perfectly-gelled hair.

“I know,” he responds, “and I never _wanted_ them to see it— I didn’t _want_ a war, I just wanted to be heard.”

Crowley nods. He looks back up at Lucifer from across the room. He takes a breath. “_I_ wanted to be heard. I thought— that day when I Fell, I thought you _abandoned me,_ like the rest of them_._ The spare sibling left alone again.”

Lucifer halts his pacing, turning to look slack-jawed at his brother. He coughs and wipes his eyes on the corner of his suitcoat’s sleeve. “I— no, Crowley, I could never— I _would_ never abandon you, not on purpose. Even when we were young, when you would pester me about anything and everything—”

“Only because Gabriel pestered _me_ about everything,” Crowley responds quietly. There’s a moment of silence before Crowley lets out a weak chuckle. Lucifer laughs, just because he’s so _anxious_, his eyes glassy with newly-shed tears. Crowley continues, “And you went to Mother and Michael to try and get them to make me stop asking you to teach me things, but _they _told you to humour me.”

“I think Mum said ‘just answer his questions and leave him to it, he has plenty of things to make’,” Lucifer manages to spit out, “and then I taught you how to make stars to spite Her.”

Crowley ducks his head to lean into Aziraphale’s shoulder, the startled Principality wrapping an arm around his husband’s shoulders.

“You always did have to go against Her,” Crowley remarks wistfully, a half-smile on his face. “Do you remember when She asked you to oversee Gabriel’s creating, and you let him make a millipede?”

Lucifer gives him a confused look for a fraction of a second before he chuckles. “Michael said ‘can it get any worse?’ and then—”

“And then you made a _centipede_, because — and you can correct me if this quote is wrong — ‘it’s worse when they’re venomous’,” Crowley finishes, trying not to outright laugh at the old memory. “As if there weren’t enough _odd_ animals out there.”

This time Lucifer snorts, thinking back to his and his siblings’ youths. “It’s not _my_ fault Uri thought a platypus was a good idea!” he exclaims.

Aziraphale looks between the two of them. _“Uriel_ made the platypus?” he questions, taking a sip from his cup.

Lucifer nods, thinking back to the look on their smallest sibling’s face, face round with youth and eyes wide with wonder.

Crowley nods, huffing. “Unfortunately. She was a fledgeling and Lucifer was on babysitting duty. It didn’t go well,” Crowley says, leaning against Aziraphale while he laughs. “Don’t leave him alone with children.”

“Hey, I’ve babysat more recently and I did _wonderfully!”_ Lucifer snarks back, coming to lean against the back of the armchair he previously occupied. Crowley laughs and rolls his eyes, looking back at his brother, a sudden feeling of melancholy mixed with nostalgia washing over him. He suddenly feels very tired, and even more older.

“When did we become so bitter?” Crowley asks quietly, leaning away from Aziraphale to stand up. He winces a bit, but shrugs the catch in his ribs off. He chuckles darkly, shaking his head. “When did we start this pointless fighting?”

Lucifer gives a halfhearted shrug. “When Mother kept information from us, I think,” Lucifer says. He huffs. “I was so angry at Her. I was angry at humans, and—”

“I know,” Crowley interrupts, putting a hand up. He sighs, and takes a step forward. It takes every ounce of willpower that Lucifer contains not to rush his brother to sweep him into a hug. “I was angry too, Lucifer. I was angry at Michael, and I was angry at _you_, and Mother. I was angry that I was on the front lines of a war that killed angels I knew, and I couldn’t choose a side, because you’re both my siblings. I loved both of you. I _still_ love both of you.”

Lucifer feels his heart stop beating — thankfully, it doesn't have to. “Still?” he clarifies.

_Still_. Such a small word that holds so much meaning in the moment.

Crowley raises an eyebrow. “That's what I said, isn't it?” he snarks, the corner of his lips twitching up in a smirk. “I haven't had siblings in a long time. I’d like to go back to being a middle child.”

Lucifer takes a step forward before he stops himself, looking away from his brother. “Can I hug you?” he asks quietly, trying not to overstep his bounds. Crowley wasn't physical as a child, Lucifer wasn't sure his stance on physical affection now.

Crowley rolls his eyes with a huff and closes the distance between him and Lucifer, wrapping his arms around his brother. “You’re an idiot,” he says, and Lucifer gives a watery laugh before he wraps his arms around his little brother.

“I missed you,” he says into Crowley’s hair — Crowley is gangly, sure, but still shorter than Lucifer by a good few inches. It used to bother him, Lucifer remembers, that Gabriel was taller than he was. Uriel though is shorter, thankfully, so Crowley wasn’t overly bitter about being the shortest in the family (though Michael chose bodies that were small in stature, too).

“I missed you too,” Crowley replies. Aziraphale watches on, sipping his tea, and since everything has happened, he feels as if things are beginning to really look up.

**Author's Note:**

> So, there's part two! Another big thank you to @ranichi17 (as always) and if you like my series, go read their series "The Highest Wisdom and the Primal Love"! It's another Archangels-as-Siblings fic! This fic was a joy to write (if a little hard, since there's a lot more interaction between characters and a lot more mentioning of events in Lucifer that I did my best to explain) and the next one is already in the works! The next few works that will be chronological as we follow the siblings and Crowley as they start to make amends. I also have a few asides planned as offshoots of this series, so stay tuned!


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